


cracks

by TyrannosaurusRekt



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Romantic Fluff, self-realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyrannosaurusRekt/pseuds/TyrannosaurusRekt
Summary: Three feels a whole lot, all at once.
Relationships: Agent 3/Agent 8 (Splatoon)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	cracks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aglowSycophant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aglowSycophant/gifts).
  * Inspired by [her angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566596) by [aglowSycophant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aglowSycophant/pseuds/aglowSycophant). 



> i read aglowSycophant's "eight adapts to the surface" series. i was enamored. i nearly cried. i had a few ideas. i wrote them down.

It was a quiet morning. 

Three groggily came to her senses, sleep still tugging at the corners of her eyes. She stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with her forearm, using her other arm to prop herself up in the bed. A quiet rustle to her side caught her attention, and she looked over to see Eight’s head protruding from a tight bundle of her wadded-up blankets. As comfortable as she was to sleep next to, she did hog the covers sometimes.

Not that Three wasn’t happy to supply them.

Eight’s eyes fluttered open, and as she rolled over in her blanket-burrito-cocoon, they met her own. “Morning, angel,” she muttered, on the verge of a yawn herself.

They sat there for a while, neither looking away.

A smile slowly made its way across Three’s face. She was content to just sit here, in this moment, for as long as she could.

“Quit staring, you butt,” Eight giggled, bumping her leg against Three’s as she worked her way loose from the covers. “You of all people should know that’s rude.”

“ _ Soooorry, _ ” Three said, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. “It’s not  _ my _ fault your eyes are so easy to get lost in.”

This prompted another giggle from Eight, pulling herself into a sitting position. “You need me to make you a map or something?” she chuckled. “Gods, Three, I love you.”

She meant it, from the bottom of all her hearts, and for the first time, they both truly knew it.

Three felt something deep within her crack.

Not like an egg or a twig, but... like a layer of mud caked onto an object cracks when the thing behind it begins to move.

She sat there in silence for a few moments.

“...Three? Are you alright?”

Her face felt wet. Her breathing was interrupted by a sharp inhale, and it took her a moment to realize she was crying.

“...Eight, I...” She sat there for a moment, sniffled, and dived forward, wrapping her arms around the octoling, her head nestled against her neck. 

She felt the coating of emotional debris crack even further, beginning to flake away. Her heartbeat reverberated through her whole body. She shivered with warmth, the way you do when you eat a really good meal or hear a really good song for the first time.

Eight reciprocated the hug, wrapping her arms around Three and gently patting the back of her neck. “I love you, Three.”

If that statement had cracked the coating on her hearts the first time Eight said it, this time it took a chisel to it. She felt it shatter, falling away, and her pulsing heartbeat slam through her, syncing up with Eight’s own.

That was it; her hearts.

Slowly at first, but rapidly intensifying, Three felt emotions--raw  _ feelings _ \--flood through her, in a way they hadn’t in a very long time.

Three sobbed into Eight’s shoulder, embracing her. She cried, and she laughed, and she  _ felt _ , and sh

and she

and she  **_loved._ **

The first thing Three felt in a very long time was raw, sheer, jagged  _ love.  _ And as it tore through her, flooding her with warmth, it took the last of the emotional caked-on mud with it.

_ She  _ **_was_ ** _ loved. _

The realization--that Eight  _ really, truly  _ **_loved_ ** her, despite who she was-- _ for _ who she was--struck her like an E-Liter shot, tearing through her. Her voice was in shambles, her hearts racing. It took the image of who she thought she was, crumpled it into a ball, rolled it back out, and folded it into an origami swan.

“I love you, Eight,” she choked out.

And she meant it, from the bottom of her hearts.


End file.
